


Making the Connections

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joanlock - Freeform, London, Spoilers, implied sexual relationship, of sorts, season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Been a while since I’ve posted cause, you know ...  (waves vaguely) Needed a little something to get me thru, so I wrote.Set after the end of season six after Joan moves to London.Very controlled fluff ... for the most part.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 89





	Making the Connections

“I thought all the stories about London and its constant rain were exaggerations,” Joan grumbled and shook out her umbrella before entering 221b. “Have you ever considered putting a door between 221a and b?” 

“This is our dry season.” Sherlock smirked, and took the umbrella from her. “And yes, I have considered connecting a and b but didn’t think you’d be too keen on it.” They walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

“You know, with a lock on it, it wouldn’t be any different than the front door, really.” The smells of the Sunday roast welcomed her. This English tradition was one that Joan had wholeheartedly embraced, especially if Sherlock did the cooking. 

“True,” he reached for the foiled pan. “Though locks have certainly never stopped either of us before.”

She smiled as she set the plates beside him for filling. “Our first floor halls share a wall, that might be a good place for it.”

“Hmm....” he heaped golden roast potatoes onto each of their plates. “That might be a bit too accessible to random guests and ne’er-do-wells. I was thinking our bedrooms might be the best place, certainly convenient ...”

Joan side-eyed him with a faintly amused look.

“No, no, no ... not like that.” He stammered. “I was thinking along the lines of your breakfast delivery... rousing you from slumber ... and such.” His voice trailed off and he concentrated on carving the roast.

Joan opened a cabinet door and pulled out two glasses. They’d yet to talk about it. Why start now? She changed the subject. 

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Upon her arrival in London a month or so ago, she stayed with him in 221b while 221a was being upgraded for her use. Wanting her to feel at home, Sherlock had prepared everything just so for her comfort: finer linens, softer towels, his bedroom to use as her own. 

“I made sure the mattress’ firmness was similar to yours at the brownstone.” Sherlock sat on the bed’s edge and bounced to prove his point. 

He patted the bed and motioned for her to come test it out. Joan rolled her eyes at him but to make him happy she sat next to him and bounced .... and he bounced.... and she bounced ... and it all became a blur after that. Perhaps too many months apart, perhaps a bit of jet lag and excitement at finally being back under one roof spurred them on, but a bounce became a nudge, a nudge an embrace, an embrace a caress, a caress a kiss, then a more passionate kiss and .... it took dawn’s light to finally separate them. 

He rose first and went down to start breakfast. Fresh from a shower, she shortly joined him. They carried on as if nothing out of the usual occurred; breakfast was made short work of, and the day was planned. A visit to Scotland Yard and a tour of the City with nary a word or acknowledgement of the previous evening.

This happened once again the night before she moved into 221a, and again a week or so after that in 221a and once more after that at 221b. Nothing was ever said. It felt normal and right, without need of explanation. Plus, some part of both of them feared that talking about it would burst the bubble, and neither wanted this to end.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The doors were soon installed in the bedrooms. Like interconnected hotel rooms, the door in one room opened to the door in the other; each with its own lock so a comfortable level of privacy and security could be maintained. The locks were never used. 

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The work day at the Yard had been long and less than fruitful. Files were brought home, and much like at the brownstone, slathered across the walls. 

She took a break and came back to him much as she had left him, standing before a wall covered with photos and documents relating to the case - a murder/suicide. 

“Something is wrong.” He spoke without turning to face her. “It just doesn’t make sense. There is no motive.” 

Joan walked up and stood beside him. 

He continued, “They were friends, long time friends. Both were rational, one might say even rather boring, individuals. Both successful. She had her own business and he worked for the British Museum. No evidence of financial problems, both in excellent health and no romantic connection between them. Most murder/suicides are usually the result of declining health, financial problems, or a romantic relationship gone sour. None of that is evident here.”

She nodded, “Could it be they had a relationship but kept it hidden?”

“Co-workers, friends, family, neighbors, all were interviewed. Not a hint of a romantic relationship was ever noted by any of them. They were the best of friends. “Soulmates” according to her sister. There is no evidence of a sexual relationship between them.”

Joan hesitated for a second. Her voice dropped, “Anyone viewing us from the outside would say the same about us and yet...” As the words left her mouth, she realized she was breaking their silence.

Sherlock took a beat before responding. 

“Joan,” his voice was almost a whisper, he spoke without looking at her, “We’ve lived together for almost a decade. I exiled myself to protect you. You uprooted your life, travelled across an ocean to live here with me. We have literally broken down walls in order to join ....” He side-eyed her, “....our bedrooms. The nature of our relationship is obvious to anyone who chooses to look.”

Ducking her head down to hide the pleased expression on her face, Joan bumped his shoulder with hers. An equally pleased expression shone on Sherlock’s face as he put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. 

Content, they stood side by side, staring blankly at the crime scene photos before them. 

Joan broke the silence, “I think we should call it a night and start fresh tomorrow morning.”

“I concur.” The broad grin on his face matched hers.

Reaching his bedroom, they separated. Joan went through the open doors into 221a. Sherlock kicked off his shoes and stripped. He turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

Moments later, a barely-dressed Joan walked back in carrying two glasses of water. She set one on each of the night stands that flanked his bed. Experience taught her they would need these at some point during the night’s exertions. Rather than getting into bed from her side, she lifted the sheet covering him and slid her body over his eliciting a low growl from him that reverberated through her. 

“Watson?” He mumbled into her neck. “May I take certain liberties with you?”

She smiled and lightly bit at his shoulder, “Yes. Yes, please do.”

With tender caresses, her diaphanous garments were gently stripped from her body and liberties were taken... many, many liberties .... many, many times.


End file.
